


Hotpot

by unclezuko



Series: warm-ups [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: ATLAofColor, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chronic Pain, Disabled Character, First Kiss, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Sign Language, eating hotpot with the homies, everyone's a dancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unclezuko/pseuds/unclezuko
Summary: (He’d said “made an entrance” because that’s what it was: the door practically flew open to reveal a man he had never seen before, an attractive man, looking unsure in the doorway with his hands full. He wore a huge utility jacket and a fanny pack across his broad chest, all black but peppered with light blue accents, and a white bone earring hung from one ear. Dark hair fell loosely around his face, the smooth, brown skin of his sharp jaw clenching and unclenching as oceanic eyes scanned the room. Zuko swam for a second before he recognized those eyes and they halted on him.)Zuko’s muscles went even tauter until those eyes left him entirely, finding land. “There you are, Katara,” the man breathed, and crossed the room. “You left your water bottle and lunch at home.”(or: the Zukka dancer AU)
Relationships: Background Mai/Ty Lee, Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), background Aang/Katara
Series: warm-ups [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103717
Comments: 64
Kudos: 443
Collections: Legends of Kolor (A collection of ATLA and LOK fics written by POC)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> to honor pain awareness month & deaf awareness month, i'm making myself post the first chapter of this! i had the idea from my own experience dancing and having chronic pain, so the descriptions of pain here are based a bit on my own!! that being said tho, i am not hard of hearing, so please feel free to leave me comments for how i can edit or change things.
> 
> there are so many ways to experience these things, & this is just one that i wanted to share with u all. hope u enjoy reading and learn more where u can this month <3

i.

Whether he was helping at the tea shop or training for the day, Zuko was as familiar with rising early as if the sun were an old friend. He stretched his muscles and shook his hair out of his eyes. When he first left home, the anxiety colored his mornings; Uncle would join him, able to sense his unease, and pretty soon they were full of Uncle creating new brew recipes and chasing troubled energy with lessons in the grass. He had Zuko learn forms to slow his breathing that became forms to return his balance, now that the burn from his father made him unable to hear or see on one side. The lessons had healed him in more ways than one; Uncle taught him fire dancing until he could dance ballet again, and until he could overcome the fear of fire his father had left him. Fire dancing had become a passion to rival his love of ballet. That was ten years ago. Now, though, Zuko rose early just for his own enjoyment.

There were a few more hours until the tea shop opened. From the sound of his snoring Uncle planned on using that time, but Zuko made sure to move quietly through the apartment, pocketing his keys, fixing his face mask, and grabbing an orange from the bowl before emerging into the street.

Zuko lived for early mornings in the city, before Ba Sing Se’s noise and color could out-charm the dew on doorsteps. He loved having his neighbors for company, ambling to their commutes or coming out for a smoke on the step. The ones up at this hour were either older or looking for a moment of peace, and he could respect the silent nods they exchanged with him.

The sky grew pink as he burrowed deeper into his turtleneck. He remembered the day, earlier in the season, when Azula infiltrated his life and by extension his calm. Leave it to his sister to make principal dancer in just months, eclipsing him even when he moved across the world. He laughed at the thought. He’d joined the Ba Sing Se Ballet only to return to her shadow, though from the flint in her gaze that day _neither_ of them had expected _this_. Even more jarring had been Mai’s face when their eyes had met. Her eyebrows were bunched, unreadable, but he relaxed when she signed to him between combos, a hesitant but unmistakable _Meet out front soon_.

They had each other up to speed before they had to return, and Zuko learned that she, Ty Lee, and Azula had been moved to Ba Sing Se to scope out the competition. She wouldn’t say more, but now he was reconnecting with his best friend—they met for tea every week—and his one unlikely friend at the company before Mai arrived was competing, months later, with Azula for the lead in _Swan Lake_.

The rest of Zuko’s commute passed in thought, and he was on and off the subway and entering the studio. From where she was stretching on the floor, Katara smiled.

“Not the earliest one today, huh?”

Her teal blue sweater looked well-loved, a bit oversized and worn in places. Zuko folded down next to her after dropping his duffel bag with a huff. “You’re not supposed to show for another twenty minutes.”

Zuko eased into his warm-ups while Katara read on her phone in companionable silence. Their friendship was like this: familial, almost mutely understanding. Every so often she would change positions and continue scrolling, making Zuko snort at her when she moved into a split. Sunlight poured through the windows as the open space filled with dancers, bodies shifting at the barre or fabric shifting in the quiet.

Needing to be in his turtleneck for as long as possible, Zuko stretched just enough to warm his limbs, and knelt back on the floor to eat before the instructor arrived. Katara returned from the barre and knelt next to him to rummage through her bag. He was neatly peeling his orange when a man made an entrance.

All of Zuko’s loose muscles went tight again.

(He’d said “made an entrance” because that’s what it was: the door practically flew open to reveal a man he had never seen before, an attractive man, looking unsure in the doorway with his hands full. He wore a huge utility jacket and a fanny pack across his broad chest, all black but peppered with light blue accents, and a white bone earring hung from one ear. Dark hair fell loosely around his face, the smooth, brown skin of his sharp jaw clenching and unclenching as oceanic eyes scanned the room. Zuko swam for a second before he recognized those eyes and they halted on him.)

Zuko’s muscles went even tauter until those eyes left him entirely, finding land. “There you are, Katara,” the man breathed, and crossed the room. “You left your water bottle and lunch at home.”

He held the items out to her as she rose from her seat on the floor. From up close, Zuko noted that the man had on eyeliner, thin, black wings extending out from his eyes. He couldn’t help but think his hands were nice.

She wrapped him in a half-hug. “Thanks, Sokka. You really didn’t have to bring them.”

“What kind of brother would I be, then?” The man smiled, entirely too charming and handsome. He glanced down at Zuko who had forgotten to peel his orange.

“This is Zuko,” Katara explained.

“Ah,” her brother replied, and then paused for a moment. “Thank you for keeping Katara company.”

Zuko may have been gaping, but at that he blushed and stuttered out, “Yeah.”

Her brother must have felt that he'd overstayed, because he planted a noisy kiss to Katara’s head and left as fast as he came. Not a minute passed before the instructor breezed in and people took their place at the barre. Hurriedly, Zuko returned to reality and peeled the rest of his orange, all but cramming it in his mouth, and at that moment Mai caught his eyes across the room and signed, _You good?_

He firmly ignored her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His adolescence had been unconventional—the tiny bean sprout that he was, elegant Katara and Gran Gran, with Sokka grooving through dance styles like a video game speedrunner. Ballet had been too rigid, though he was decent at it, but it became Katara’s territory while Sokka had experimented. Nothing felt as colorful and open and freeing as hip-hop, not even his science classes; here dancing energized him, he could let his brain be creative, and his body could express itself in curves, shapes, and angles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More lore, and Sokka is eager to return to Ba Sing Se Ballet.

ii.

Sokka let out a huge breath where he lay on the floor, fully flat and bathed in harsh light. He could feel the noise through the wood and fizzing through his body. Really, he felt carbonated. Toph was on his left mapping out choreo, and Aang had his hand in a seaweed box as he bopped halfheartedly with her. Suki relaxed on a box they used occasionally for pieces, beanie low over her hair and eyes on her phone. His friends were a comfort, but not nearly enough for the weird that was happening in his body. He let out another breath, wanting to be heard over the music, and brought his hands up to his hair to enhance it.

Toph turned and leveled him with a glare. “Okay, what’s wrong with him?” 

Aang blinked. “Maybe he’s in pain?”

Theatrically, Sokka rolled until he was on his back again and at Suki’s feet, groaning the whole way. Her eyes never left her phone as she leaned forward and pat his forearm. “There, there.” He lightly elbowed Suki’s kneepad and somewhere above him Toph snorted.

“Did Katara kick your ass or something?”

“No, but she might as well have.” He paused for effect then said, “I never expected her friend to be hot! A brother could use a warning.” 

Toph erupted into laughter as a couple students entered the room, but Sokka didn’t even bother pretending. He wasn’t warming up, he was laying on the floor like the bi fool he was. 

Suki removed his hand from his hair and rested it on her knee (or well, the padding). “Alright, tell us about them. I’m amazed you kept the poetics in for this long.” 

That opened the floodgates. “Man, Suki, he was beautiful. He was wearing a turtleneck? A knitted thick black one, and he was peeling an orange but, fuck, his eyes… they were like honey. He’s got a scar on half of his face as if he wasn’t hot enough, and black hair that kinda falls into his eyes, and he was  _ awkward _ as hell but I loved it. His name’s Zuko.” 

“Oh, I’ve heard of Zuko! I’ve never met him though,” Aang added, offering them some seaweed. “Katara said his sister was the one she’s competing with. For the  _ Swan Lake _ lead.” 

That made Sokka shoot up from the floor; he clutched Suki’s hand, finding the fabric of her long-sleeve before he could overbalance. “Hold on, he dances. Ballet.” 

“No shit, Snoozles,” Toph said around her seaweed. 

“I’m gonna pass out,” Sokka muttered. 

They left him to drink some water when everyone arrived for rehearsal. Sokka planted himself in the corner, and followed Toph as she recapped their routine. Aang made some students in the back laugh with a (pretty good, honestly) Toph-style impression. Sokka’s heart warmed looking at them. He needed a moment to collect himself before he could dance fully, the way he wanted, with a laser-sharp focus. 

He may run his own dance company, but he didn’t have to be responsible. Not right now, at least. Piandao had turned the company over to him last year, marking eight since Sokka began training under him. His adolescence had been unconventional —the tiny bean sprout that he was, elegant Katara and Gran Gran, with Sokka grooving through dance styles like a video game speedrunner. Ballet had been too rigid, though he was decent at it, but it became Katara’s territory while Sokka had experimented. Nothing felt as colorful and open and freeing as hip-hop, not even his science classes; here dancing energized him, he could let his brain be creative, and his body could express itself in curves, shapes, and angles. 

More recently, Aang took up the mantle alongside him; they had originally met when Aang joined the company, and radiating sunlight from his ears whenever he breakdanced, he became a permanent fixture in Sokka’s life. Meaning he and Katara had been together for years now, and where they had been blushing over bubble tea, Sokka had been kissing Suki in the alley behind her company. Suki danced for the Kyoshi Warriors who were located a few streets North, and was mint-cool, making baked sweets for Sokka and playlists for Aang. The closer they grew she made a habit of dancing with them as well, for pieces that were more her scene or ones they imagined her in. She’d firmly encouraged Toph to join Piandao’s company. Toph had melted easily into the group, with her self-taught talent and dirt-caked charm. They all had collaborated on many pieces together, wreaked havoc at many establishments, and become friends over card game nights and warm hotpot. 

Right now, Katara was the only one dancing ballet though Sokka, Aang, and Suki had ballet histories in their pockets. He was happy his sister had a friend there, though he hoped there would be chances for  _ him _ to see that friend in the near future. Maybe he could cook up a plan for later… 

But for now… Sokka tied his hair up, felt the shaved sides, and returned, beaming, to his element.

\----

Eager to test the waters, Sokka accompanied Aang after rehearsal. From their studio he was heading to Ba Sing Se Ballet. Aang and Katara had a date this evening and he had planned to pick her up from work. (Sokka had promised he would only make her feel weird about it for a second; he had no chance against Aang’s pleading look.) They walked through the streets with familiar banter and hands in their pockets, looking on as kids went home from school. Groups of them clumped together at street vendors, laughing loudly and eating kebabs.

He had no real plan for what he would do when he got there. They would find Katara, he would embarrass her a bit and then he would leave her with Aang, he knew that much. He wouldn’t look too hard for Zuko, and hopefully that would be enough. Planlessness aside.

The dancers here had finished their day as well, and upon entering the cool building they needed to navigate through the throng. Sokka remembered the energy from his ballet days, how the closer they got to audition season the less color there was in the sea of leotards. Before they could locate Katara—Sokka could not for the  _ life _ of him remember what she had been wearing earlier when he was here—Aang recognized a face in the crowd and made his way to greet them.

“Hi Ty Lee! Weird seeing you here.” The only person wearing a peach leotard, high-necked and embroidered at the front, turned at the name making their braid swing around them. Sokka marveled at how alike they were in energy, how it made sense that they knew each other.

“Hey Aang,” Ty Lee grinned. Her cheek dimpled in contrast to the stern person she stood with. “Hold on, you don’t go here, do you? I thought I would have seen you by now.”

“Nah,” Aang rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t do ballet anymore. I’m b-boying now at a company in the city, not too far from here. This is my friend Sokka, he dances there too!”

Ty Lee’s gaze moved to him and she scrunched her nose a little in response. “That sounds fun! You’ll have to invite me to one of your shows if you have them. This is Mai.” At the introduction, Mai nodded at them.

Aang chirped that it was nice to meet her, apologized that he was here to meet his girlfriend, and exchanged a hug and plans to catch up now that they were in the same city with Ty Lee. Their brief detour ensured that there were less bodies now, dancers having left for errands or coffee on their commutes home. Sokka glimpsed his sister at the end of the next hall not long after, laughing playfully at someone who had their back to them. He thought to himself how she’d be on the receiving end soon.

“I’m almost ready to go,” she said to Aang, then raised an eyebrow at Sokka. “Here twice in one day? You already left an impression, Sokka, give them a chance to breathe.”

He was uneasy at the way the playfulness returned to her features. “Aang didn’t tell you? I’m chaperoning your date.” Her glare could cut all the way back to their childhood. “Relax! I just walked him here, I came to say hi, have some faith in your boyfriend.”

Her smirk turned wry. “You could say hi to me at home.”

This entire time Sokka had been so absorbed in their banter that he hadn’t registered the person she’d been talking to, or even the fact that he had angled his body to watch the siblings spar. At that moment, he made eye contact with Zuko and felt the earth collapse from under him. Katara cleared her throat. 

“Oh! You must be Zuko. I’m Aang, Katara’s boyfriend.” Aang’s smile widened in realization.

“Nice to meet you,” the man replied, eyes nearly as wide. Meanwhile, Sokka’s heart raced at the rasp of Zuko’s voice, like clouds of smoke, or sandpaper. “I don’t want to keep you when you have plans to make.”

“That’s true, we should be going anyway,” Katara replied and loosened her hair. 

Sokka jolted back to reality with the force of an electric current. “You guys go, I’ll just use the bathroom real quick.” He looked to Aang and deepened his voice. “Have her home by midnight, young man.” Then he clapped his friend on the shoulder, tugged one of Katara’s curls and threw a warm smile at Zuko as he turned down the hall. A hand caught his arm before he could get too far.

“Uh, actually the bathroom’s that way.” Zuko told him, and Sokka noted that Aang and Katara were nowhere in sight.

“Thanks,” Sokka breathed. He made to step around him but thought better of it, relaxing his posture. “Hey, I really meant it earlier when I thanked you for keeping her company. All of our friends dance together, so I know it can get lonely, her being the only ballet dancer.” 

Zuko went pink at that. “No problem. I needed the company too when I came here.” He was wearing a dark grey fitted shirt that emphasized his shoulders, and biting his lip in thought. He looked up through his hair, and Sokka very nearly risked it all right then. “You dance?”

Sokka hummed, “Hip-hop. I run a company with Aang.”

“That’s amazing.”

After a beat passed, Sokka realized where he had been headed and Zuko seemed to have realized too. They both huffed out a laugh, looking at each other hesitantly. 

“Well, I should…” 

“Yep…”

They brushed past each other and Sokka took a deep breath in the bathroom, letting his hair back down as he leaned into the mirror. He pointed at his reflection the way Toph would if she’d experienced that mess. Thank Tui she hadn’t. “Don’t pussy out, Sokka,” he murmured through his teeth. “You can talk to a cute boy.”

He didn’t expect to find Zuko when he emerged, fully intending to leave with no further sightings. There was music though, pouring from the studio he had entered this morning, and how could Sokka resist being enchanted? He followed the notes to the open doorway and looked in.

There he found Zuko. Of course, of all the dancers there could be, the one who enamored him was facing the mirror, eyes closed. From the angle Sokka could admire the expanse of his back, the lines of his shoulders strong, flexing with each move. He had forgotten until now how beautiful ballet was. Zuko lightly landed each jump, and with each turn his form never broke, remaining tight but knowing when to soften. Entranced, Sokka hadn’t even noticed that Zuko’s hands were not held traditionally; they danced too, in a way, motioning in the space, or folding and extending into shapes and gestures. They were signs, Sokka thought, ones used to communicate in silence, and he wondered in passing if Zuko could hear from his burnt ear. The hands danced even while his body did, changing and expressing, as he nailed multiple turns and never missed a beat. 

Zuko danced with his entire being.

The music died, and the man loosened his muscles with a shake. His labored breathing filled the empty space and emptier soundscape now that the noise was gone, but Sokka had never felt more full, brain and heart sprouting chords. He could dance to the rhythm his blood made. 

That’s when Zuko winced, and the record scratched in Sokka’s rush.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” With his head tilted that way the earring brushed against his jaw; one dark eyebrow furrowed in thought, and Sokka’s eyes were dreamy where some loose hairs fell into them. His freckles dusted his nose. There it dawned on Zuko that he had seen his choreo, intimate and freeing, at least enough for it to leave an impression.

iii. 

“Are you hurt?”

From this angle, Zuko could see reflected that the voice echoing around him was Sokka’s, could see him just past the door extending a hesitant hand. Like zooming out of his own pain, Zuko met the man’s eyes—they were lined pools, and Sokka’s hair was down again around his ears, and his expression looked unsure. Zuko chewed on his cheek and took a breath. “Not seriously… but a bit, yeah. There’s a heat pad in my bag.”

Sokka looked at him for a beat, then moved slowly to Zuko’s bag where it lay open already. He carefully found the electric pad and brought it to Zuko, leaning down near him to plug it in. 

Zuko breathed a “thanks” and eased himself to the floor, holding the pad as it warmed and Sokka lounged beside him. He held it against his neck. Considered. Relented. “I have chronic pain,” he explained; it came out smoother than expected. “From, uh… occasionally it flares up in certain areas. Especially if I’m not careful. But I know how to handle it.”

“That must be hard to dance with,” Sokka said. He nodded in understanding though, and there’s none of the pity Zuko’s grown to hate in his face. 

“Honestly, yeah,” and there’s more of a confession there than he would prefer to admit. The pad warmed under his hand, eased the pain that radiated there, too, and the man next to him settled and leaned his cheek into his palm. “You don’t need to stay, I’m really okay from here—”

“There’s nowhere I need to be,” Sokka replied, one edge of his mouth curving up. “There anything else I can do? Or get you?” Then more seriously, “I wanna make sure you’re good.” 

The warmth that colored Zuko’s face could rival that of the heatpad. He looked away from Sokka, cleared his throat, hoped it would work to clear his head. He knew Katara would be laughing at him from across the city. 

“I’m okay I think. Thank you.” 

He made no move to leave, and Zuko resigned himself to Sokka’s presence. The pain bled out of his body, becoming muted as he dug knuckles into his neck and the heat worked its magic. He hadn’t even noticed the pain getting bad earlier, too enraptured in the movements he’d made himself. Maybe it didn’t help that he had stayed longer than usual, where by now he would be resting in an armchair with tea. Not to mention he’d barely warmed up this morning. He paused to pull his turtleneck on at the same time that Sokka removed his jacket, revealing an array of inked lines on his forearm.  _ Oh come on _ , Zuko’s brain replied. 

What next? He was gonna offer a massage?

Zuko shouldn’t have thought it, because his luck was the way it was, and Sokka’s eyes followed the movement of his hand. Up close, he could see Sokka’s freckles. There was a charged moment, him fixed on those eyes, that were fixed on his hand, and the heat on his neck became that much warmer.

“Here, you shouldn’t strain your shoulder more. Does the right one hurt?”

Sokka moved slightly, raising a hand and making eye contact, asking. Because he’s nothing if not indulgent, and his right shoulder did hurt from holding the heat pad, Zuko nodded, not trusting his voice entirely. Sokka took a seat to Zuko’s right and murmured, “Can I?” before kneading the muscle.

The angle helped, and Zuko leaned into it now that his hands could get some needed rest. Out of the corner of his eye he admired the focused look on Sokka’s face. He felt comfortable right now, even with being touched by a stranger, because pain changed things; maybe it was the comfort by association, how Katara spoke lovingly about her brother when he came up, maybe it was how he received Zuko’s pain, or maybe it was the crush Zuko nurtured, but any relief from the ache was welcome.

He couldn’t regret it or be embarrassed. Certainly not when the hands on his back helped his muscles loosen, not when Sokka took the heat pad from him and held it firmly against his left shoulder, and not when his teeth were no longer clenched against the pain. 

After a long, comfortable silence Zuko took the heat pad from Sokka, who moved a bit around Zuko so he could knead his shoulder and look at his face. They were close and the pain was filed down, but at this point the hand on his shoulder was comforting. Sokka appeared calm as he studied Zuko’s face. 

He was thoughtful for a moment, and then Sokka tilted his head. “Did you choreograph that?” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Zuko said, moving the heating pad to the other side. 

“I’ve never seen anything like it before.” With his head tilted that way the earring brushed against his jaw; one dark eyebrow furrowed in thought, and Sokka’s eyes were dreamy where some loose hairs fell into them. His freckles dusted his nose. There it dawned on Zuko that he had seen his choreo, intimate and freeing, at least enough for it to leave an impression. A chance to talk about his work opened up like a plant; he hadn’t needed to, he thought, even with Uncle’s nudging and Katara’s clear interest. Uncle learned sign with him, and was the only person to know about Zuko’s more personal projects. The extent that Katara knew was that ballet, for him, took a backseat. He loved it—his mother had danced for the Ember Island Players—but that couldn’t remove the reality of his family and his body. He was learning to work with the limits. Creating on his own was the main relief from that. 

“Ba Sing Se doesn’t really produce original work,” Zuko offered, energized. “The productions every season are chosen, on rotation, but we don’t tend to stray far from that. Tradition. So I choreograph on the side, for myself. That way I can mess more with form.”

“Were those signs you were incorporating?” Sokka whistled in response to Zuko’s nod. “Not only is that really fucking cool, but that’s gotta be pretty important, too. Pairing an art reliant on musicality with signing. That’s genius!” Warmth dusted across Zuko’s features. “If Ba Sing Se won’t perform it, why stay? There’s gotta be other places, right?”

The question would normally frustrate Zuko, but for some reason from Sokka, melted in with his enthusiasm and sincerity, it only made Zuko think. The plant kept opening. The roots found water. The air lengthening between them felt comfortable. Organic. Like it always had been with Katara, but easier. 

Eventually Zuko whispered, “I’ve never really considered that.” 

\----

There were few people on earth that Zuko would rehearse a partner piece for. Or with. He gently supported Katara as she turned into an arabesque, and on the next cue lifted her into a moving split. Repeat. For once he wasn’t the tense one. They had learned Odile’s duet with the prince, preparing for Katara’s upcoming audition, and he knew from the hard lines of her brows that she was frustrated with the black swan’s part. The entrance was sharp in a way he knew her to be, but when it came to dancing, Katara was smooth, fluid. That texture is originally what made her a good dancer. Now it needed work, but who better to support her than Zuko?

He had abandoned his gold and black button-up in favor of the shirt he wore underneath, fresh sweat sticking his skin. On their fourth run-through, Katara dropped out of her passé with a venomous groan; Zuko stepped out of her way, hands held up. “Okay, let’s take a break.”

Leave it to his friend to not listen. She promptly returned to the solo when Zuko refilled his water, her mouth and arms held tight. He knew better than to grill her for it though. 

Zuko leaned against the barre to watch his friend dance: her strong movements, her black leotard (“Don’t you dare laugh, I’m getting into character!”), her dust-pink shoes against the wood. Exchanging notes was routine for them; early in their friendship, Zuko had gone to her when he’d been favoring one side and needed to correct it, and Katara would come to him when a role was especially hard for her. Maybe his friend could crush his skull with her pointe shoes, but he never feared her. He eased into the routine, not needing to worry how she would receive it. 

“You’re rushing the pas de bourrées,” He said, “Use that time to loosen your shoulders. The turns are clean! Other than that get more comfortable in the role, and you’ll be perfect.”

She let slip a tiny smile. “You’re sure this isn’t a conflict of interest?” 

“Hell no, my sister couldn’t be more estranged.”

They’d talked a little about the  _ Swan Lake _ competition—Katara as Odette was a no-brainer, but at their company the role of the black swan had to be played by the same person. He could easily imagine Azula cursing the sweetness of Odette’s part, unable to sell the delicate role even if she went to therapy for it. Where Katara wasn’t delicate at least she could dance like it, and if she could master the darker part she would crush the audition no problem. Zuko had told her as much. 

Her smirk grew. “Maybe you should audition for the prince. That way, I’m a shoo-in.”

“Again, and I cannot emphasize this enough… hell no,” he said, this time with feeling. 

She laughed as she untied her shoes, pulled on her joggers, and Zuko shrugged on his button-up. He looked at her expectantly when she donned her brown coat, and they left the studio exchanging jabs about their partner work. The streetlights were warm in the cold dusk when he remembered a few evenings ago, pulling his jacket closer around him as he asked, “How was your date?”

Katara hummed. “It was nice. Aang wanted to try out this Thai place, and then we walked around.”

“It was nice to finally meet him,” Zuko added.

He realized he fucked up when her eyes narrowed, teasing. “Yeah, I’ve known you for over a year. How have you just met my boyfriend?  _ And _ my brother? When I live with him?” She looked at her nails.

Of course she would read into that. He leveled a look at her; she kept admiring her nails. “Over a year isn’t that long. How is it my fault that they never visit the studio?”

“They do. You just always leave so fast.”

She had a point there.

He didn’t like the way she looked up then, like she knew something, her eyes laughing. There was nothing to know. He thought back to Sokka. They had parted ways, walked together to the door, and Zuko had to contain his grin the whole ride home. The energy from their talk had stayed with him. That was a couple days ago. Zuko told her telepathically that  _ There is _ nothing _ to know, stop smiling at me like that. _

What came out was, “Maybe you’re a bad friend for never inviting me to your apartment!”

His friend just laughed, and he scowled, and she hugged him comfortingly when they came to where he caught the subway. He kept thinking  _ Fuck, that wasn’t smooth, now she  _ knows  _ I have it bad for her brother, if she didn’t already know before, I have like two friends how do they both suck, _ but that train stopped when she softly pushed his shoulder. All she said was, “I’ll make that up to you soon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is based on how i handle my pain! we love warm compress & consensual massages


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt carbonated again—fizzing up to his ears, effervescent, like he had soda poured onto his nerves. There was no music this time to simulate the feeling through the wood. Just friend-warmth and the city’s life and honey in his mouth, leftover from the night. He couldn’t tell if it was from the bubble tea or a certain person’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for all the sweet notes & comments ;~; i've read them and they make writing easier!! chapter four was written listening to "sunflower" and imagining sokka, aang, and suki doing this choreo

iv.

“Hurry up, gang, I wanna make it to my favorite noodle stand!”

The city was approaching evening, energy climbing and lights hung overhead. Their group was mostly ambling against Aang’s urges forward, but Toph and Suki seemed to be making a deliberate effort to hang back, just for laughs. Sokka had on a huge hoodie, his trademark jean jacket keeping the cool air out. 

“But look at this tapestry!” Katara circled back to a stall. Aang looked on helplessly before giving in to join her.

With that, thanks to Katara, their bald friend indulged them. They browsed many wares; Sokka came away with a new pair of slides, and Suki bought a tote bag from a local artist. He and Katara found some neat prints for their apartment, but she had to talk him out of making other purchases—they didn’t need more decorative swords, they barely had room as is. Toph planned on hitting a plant stand later on. And of course, after noodles, they had to stop for milk tea. (Not at their usual place, because it closed early today.) But they wouldn’t be them if they went out and didn’t. 

They made it to the noodle stand, and Sokka settled to the side with his order. Nearby a crowd of people was growing. The old guy who owned it was refusing money from Aang, while Katara tried not to laugh and Toph  _ buried _ her noodles in chili flakes. She always made fun of him for his low spice threshold, but he firmly claimed hers was unthinkably high. Suki repeatedly refused to weigh in on the argument. 

“Not too spicy for you, bro?”

“Oh eat it, Toph.”

“I will.” 

Having somehow ended the money struggle, Aang returned with a poster in hand. He passed it to Suki who hummed in approval, but from where Sokka was he couldn’t try to read it. 

“Jeong Jeong gave this to me,” Aang explained when he’d swallowed his food, “There’s a performance here starting soon! He said they’re a fire dancer, they’re supposed to be really good.”

“That explains the crowd,” Katara added. 

He left for another order of noodles and on his way back, the crowd had filled most of the square. There were families herding up kids with sweet buns and mochi, and couples huddled up to share warmth against the wind. Their group had edged a bit closer to the heart, and Toph was telling Aang about some new band she was listening to. His noodles were _ so spirits-damned good. _

Eventually Suki poked him with her chopstick to get his attention; he nearly yelped and batted at her. She just nodded to the center where the performance was starting. 

A person with a blue mask on climbed a raised wooden platform, two bars clasped in each of their hands. The ends were lit with flame. Their clothing was all dark, showing toned upper arms in the cold, and as they took their place they barely even acknowledged the crowd. They spun the bars once, firmly planted their feet and sunk into a deep squat— _ oh, that was kind of hot _ Sokka’s brain supplied. Rhythmic drums flared to life and the dancer flared with it. 

Sokka was floored by a performance for the second time this week, his eyes catching on the bars as they arced cleanly through the air. The dancer moved, sharp, and the flames obediently followed. Underneath it all though was a control; every spin of the bars or kick was calculated, clearly practiced to near-perfection. 

He looked around the group and took the flyer from Katara.

“The Blue Spirit,” he whispered.

Each breeze made the crowd gasp, but the masked dancer remained unphased. The flames burned strong against the wind, shedding little embers. There was sweat pooling on the performer’s arms. Sokka may have drooled a bit, and may be developing a crush, okay. For the second time in a week. There was a punchline in that.

The performance ended, but the rhythm stuck in Sokka’s mind like a heartbeat. The crowd came down with the flames. They extinguished while the people clapped and laughed and cheered, and their group winced when Toph sent up a piercing whistle. Katara grumbled at her and she just cackled demonically, but Sokka was too focused on the dancer on the stage, who took a towel offered to them and placed it around their neck. 

As the people around began to thin out, he collected their empty bowls to trash. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dancer talk to an old man. The group were looking when he returned, Aang curious about who they were, and Sokka watched with a cloud in his brain as the person removed the blue mask.

His jaw unhinged and hit the ground.

“Who is it?” Toph asked.

“The Blue Spirit is  _ Zuko? _ ” Aang nearly shrieked.

“He never said he did other styles!” Katara matched her boyfriend’s volume.

“Oh, so  _ that’s _ Zuko,” Suki looked shrewdly at Sokka. 

“I take it he’s hot,” Toph said. 

“He’s hot,” Suki confirmed.

Sokka just fucking stared. 

When his brain came back online, it was to his friends… arguing? Their bodies were still angled towards the stage, of course, looking openly at Zuko. He blinked to refocus through the cloud of smoke in his brain. Aang was saying, “—not weird to say hi to him!” and Suki, enabling but reasonable, replied, “He’s probably tired, you know how performing is.”

“Aang already met him, though,” Toph whined. “When can I meet Zuko?”

Because they’re  _ loud, _ and because  _ now _ Katara was loudly hissing at Toph, Sokka watched in mild horror as the old man leaned in to Zuko and the guy himself looked up with sun-sized eyes. 

“Fuck, he’s looking,” Sokka choked out, and then they all looked because they have no tact.

“Now we have to say hi,” Aang exclaimed with a wave.

“I don’t want to overwhelm him,” Katara argued.

“We  _ are _ overwhelming,” Suki agreed. 

“He’ll meet us eventually though! Unless you think we’re any less overwhelming ever, there’s no better time,” Toph smirked, and Sokka blanched at the look on her face. He made an anxious noise. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Katara muttered, and they didn’t have time to react to her cursing because she grabbed Sokka’s wrist and pulled him in Zuko’s direction. 

He took a long moment to register what was happening. He hissed,  _ "Katara!" _ but was met with encouraging eyes and a soft squeeze of his hand. 

Katara’s wool scarf whipped against his cheek and soon they came to a stop in front of Zuko. The old man from earlier practically beamed, where in contrast Zuko looked baffled, gold eyes darting between their faces. Sokka forced a shy smile to his lips as Katara opened her arms.

“Zuko!” She said, and leaned in to give him a hug. Sokka faintly hoped she had hugged the guy before. “You were amazing up there. Really. How come you never told me you didn’t just do ballet?”

“Thanks,” he replied. His cheeks were slightly flushed. “I, uh, never really tell anyone. My uncle is the only one, besides you now, who knows. Uncle, this is Katara,” he addressed to the old man.

“I have heard many good things about you from my nephew.”

“Your nephew is very talented, sir,” Katara smiled.

“He is.” Next to him, Zuko blushed. “Please, call me Iroh.”

“This is my brother, Sokka,” she said and placed her hands on his shoulders. “We’re here with the rest of our friends but we wanted to come greet Zuko.”

Iroh let out a hearty chuckle. “Oh, they can come say hello!”

“No, that’s okay—” 

“We have plans to get bubble tea, actually,” Sokka cut in. He had an idea, and there was an opening, and he tried to apologize to his sister with his eyes. “You’re welcome to join, though, if you want,” he said to Zuko. For the first time since they walked up, he let himself absorb Zuko’s gaze, Zuko’s jaw, his mask hugged to his chest, the damp hair smeared on his forehead. His breath caught a bit on its way out. 

“Um…” He looked down at the mask, pursed his lips. “Yeah.” He spared a glance at his uncle, who returned a huge smile. “Yeah, I can come for bubble tea.” 

Sokka’s heart leapt. They said good night to his uncle while Zuko placed the mask in his bag, and Iroh made a joke as Zuko threw on a long coat. From the corner of his eye Sokka recognized the old man signing, his hands forming words that only Zuko understood, and in response color bloomed high on Zuko’s cheeks. He didn’t have time to think about what that might mean, because then they turned to leave with reminders to stay warm.

“Apologies in advance,” Katara opened a pack of gum. “You met Aang, but collectively our friends can be… a lively bunch.”

“They’re our lively bunch,” Sokka rolled his eyes fondly. “But they’ll like you just fine, promise.”

Zuko nodded, meeting Sokka’s eyes, and they made their way to the group who wore identical expressions of joy. Toph elbowed her way around the others; for a small person, she embodied a lot of force. 

“Change of plans, gang, Zuko’s joining us for bubble tea.” Sokka pointedly avoided Suki’s searching grin.

“Hi, Zuko!” Aang said with apparently renewed energy.

“That’s Suki,” he pointed, “and the tiny gremlin’s Toph.”

He earned a rightful punch to the arm for that, and only grimaced a little bit. Toph threw a “hey” at Zuko and Suki saluted with an easy air. “You killed it earlier,” she added after.

“For real, it was lit!” said Aang.

“Nice one, old man,” Toph snorted, and Aang pouted back.

Zuko thanked them, and before Suki could make a joke about how  _ some _ may call it hot, Sokka led them onto the street in the direction of the bubble tea shop. They asked Zuko how he learned to fire dance, and he told them it had been his uncle’s idea. Katara went on about how neat it was to have a style in addition to ballet, to which the others reminded her that many of them had ballet training. She egged them on to prove it and crossed her arms beside Zuko with a smug look. He just narrowed his eyes. Aang nearly ate it trying to do a split (he insisted, “I need to stretch first!”) and Sokka, remembering Zuko’s choreo, landed a shitty excuse for a tour jeté. He thought it was pretty good, actually. But then Zuko laughed, and it felt even better. 

They poured into the shop and were out of there in no time. Where most of the group had their orders, Sokka took ten seconds to read Toph the options before she chose one at random: a winter melon green bubble tea, full sugar. Katara and Suki scrunched their noses and got half sugar teas, taro and coffee. Aang always got grass jelly, and Sokka loved his usual honey black milk tea. 

On their way out of the shop, he asked, “What’d you get?”

“Lychee with bubbles,” Zuko replied. 

“How’s the lychee here? I’ve only ever had it from our usual place.”

“Pretty decent, but not as good as my uncle makes it.” Zuko took another sip, then hummed. “Maybe I’m biased, but lychee at the Jasmine Dragon is much better.”

“No way,” Sokka exclaimed. “Your uncle owns the Jasmine Dragon?”

“The one near here? That’s where we usually go!” said Suki. “Toph converted us.”

“Yeah, I work shifts there sometimes.” Zuko’s mouth curled up, and Sokka imagined him behind the counter with an apron on. From the ballet company to the tea place, he wondered how they’d never run into him before.

Toph looked up from under her baseball cap. “Oh, I love Iroh, Sparky. I might make him my uncle.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Zuko said seriously. 

All of them laughed. When Toph ducked her head under her hat Sokka still saw her smile, toothy and heartwarmed, and held back from roasting her just this once. He and Aang raced to drink all of their bubbles (or jellies) the fastest, and Katara cheated by announcing that Aang had won. 

Sokka found himself next to Zuko again as they walked, just enjoying the October chill and the calm of the city at night. He thought back to that piece of information. “How’s working at the tea shop? Are the patrons as annoying as they tend to be?”

“They can be.” Zuko looked at him out of the corner of his eye, the corners crinkling. “You’ve worked in customer service? I thought you ran a dance company.”

The fact that he remembered brought warmth to Sokka’s cheeks. “Uh, yeah. But I have my humble origins. I work at a PC cafe here in the city part-time, because as much as I love to exercise creative liberties, running the dance company doesn’t always pay the bills.”

Zuko nodded. “That makes sense.”

He looked over at his friends, them embracing Zuko effortlessly, as they continued to meander down the street, the lighthearted conversation around plans and dance and life. Katara and Suki looping their arms in Zuko’s and running forward, their jackets flowing out behind them. The vendors closing up for the night and the groups enjoying the last of it, with the waterfront on one side and the train heard farther off. He looked at the city getting ready for rest as Aang and Toph took off laughing after them. Sokka reached where they were, hands in his jean jacket, and caught them inching next to Zuko for warmth, pink-faced and grinning. 

He felt carbonated again —fizzing up to his ears , effervescent, like he had soda poured onto his nerves. There was no music this time to simulate the feeling through the wood. Just friend-warmth and the city’s life and honey in his mouth, leftover from the night. He couldn’t tell if it was from the bubble tea or a certain person’s eyes.

A warm hand touched his arm and Sokka blinked up at Zuko. He had brushed past Sokka to throw out his cup and they exchanged small smiles when he returned to Sokka’s side. Looking around the circle he took note of Katara muffling a yawn where she leaned into Aang. His expression must have been softer, because Suki smiled from underneath her face mask. 

Now or never, he thought. The evening was coming to an end. 

He turned to face Zuko.

“Hey, you should come to hotpot tomorrow night. At our apartment.”

“Okay,” Zuko breathed, his face lit up and warm. “I’ll be there.”

“Sweet,” Sokka said through his grin. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was friendly fire even around a hot object here, threats cooking with bok choy in the broth. But the threats never landed. Never came to life or fruition or even to a real boil. Instead Zuko learned that Suki was choreographing a piece to that song, this fall at their company, that Sokka and Aang were performing it with her. They indulged Sokka even though he always asked to put it on, and they did this time too, Sokka dancing in his seat.
> 
> The place was warm with trust and broth and the intimacy of eating hotpot with friends. The decorative furs, the chili oil mixture, the bowl of soup brought to his lips were nothing compared to the warmth around Zuko, pooling in his chest, making a home there like his knees against the colorful floor cushions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many, many apologies for the nearly month-late chapter!! i certainly didn't expect it, but. u have my creative block to thank for that. here is my ode to missing hotpot with friends, & my longwinded excuse to write about it. 
> 
> thank u all for making my first published fic experience a rewarding one. i hope i did it justice & i plan to write more in this universe that i've grown to love. <3 a lot of this chapter was written while eating mooncake, so—i hope reading this holds the same enjoyment!!

v.

“You owe me,” Mai deadpanned.

“Name it. I can make Uncle sell espresso. Or—I’ll buy your next tattoo.”

Mai fell quiet, but Zuko knew her, and he knew that her brain was turning over the idea. He had his phone against his shoulder, balanced while he rummaged for his train card. The apartment was only a few stops from the ballet studio, West of the heart of the city and his own home above the teashop. One commuter narrowly missed him on their way to the turnstile, and hands (and shoulder) full, Zuko cursed softly. 

“That could work,” came through the phone line. 

“Espresso or tattoo?” he asked.

“I’ll take you up on the ink. Not everyday I get that promise.” 

“Really, you’re the fucking best, Mai,” he repeated. His friend scoffed into his ear, telling him to expect her on his shift tomorrow. For their rescheduled tea plans with hot drinks on the house. He also expected her to prod him about Sokka, open the can of updates that he had kept under wraps. 

He made it to the train platform. From experience he knew that his reception would hold up until he got on the train and not a minute longer—so, chewing on his lip, he voiced the thought that had been brewing.

“How’s Azula?” 

There were noises in the background where Mai was likely cooking. A microwave door shut. Water began to run. “She’s okay,” Mai exhaled. “I can tell she still feels a lot of pressure. You know her expectations. Her full focus is on the audition right now.”

Zuko knew. The details she wouldn’t tell him, the ones that needed no mentioning. 

“Thanks, Mai. Take care of her for me?”

“At this point you don’t even need to ask, Zuko.” 

Off in the dark, he could see the approaching train lights, and the train’s metal body lifted his hair as it pulled in. Mai could probably hear the metallic sound through the phone. He pointed it out anyway. “Train’s here. I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Yep,” she replied around her mouthful of food. “Have fun, loverboy.”

The indignant noise he made was cut by the call ending, but Zuko rolled his eyes at nothing as the train doors slid open. He claimed a seat and let the commute calm wash over him. He had an easy time entering that headspace; thoughts nowhere and everywhere, floating by formlessly like the train’s movement in the black. The only other passengers in the car were a reading, curly-haired boy and a person who boarded with their bike at the next stop. 

They were joined by a tall woman his age and a father and his baby before Zuko’s stop came lurching up, pulling into a crowded station. He edged his way past people to the exit, and emerged into the cool, crisp, city air. 

Having taken one last look at the way to Sokka and Katara’s place before he phoned Mai, he knew what street names to look for and what turns to make. As he walked Zuko thought about the events of last night; performing again, happening across his friend, agreeing to bubble tea on a whim and not needing his Uncle’s convincing. Looking through sun-drunk eyes as Katara broke through the crowd, her sweet, charismatic brother following close behind. He’d felt comfortable, welcomed, meeting the others and hanging out. They did all the talking, and then Sokka invited him to hotpot, and the others hadn’t seemed to think he would be intruding at all. (Aang had asked him eagerly about any dietary restrictions.)

Of course, still, Zuko fretted to make a good impression. 

He came up to their place embracing the lychee juice he brought to share. Narrowing his eyes against the blue light from his phone, he looked for his text thread with Sokka. The address matched.

**[7:01pm]** **Zuko:** Here

**[7:01pm] Sokka:** :D

**[7:01pm] Sokka:** cool!!

**[7:02pm] Sokka:** one sec, i’ll come get u

There was laughter behind the door before it opened and there stood Sokka. At his appearance Zuko tamped down the anxious flame in his chest. He had on an eager but nervous smile, and Zuko couldn’t begin to imagine the look he wore on his own face. His brain was much too busy understanding the sight in front of him: Sokka in the comfort of his own home, hair escaping the ponytail, abdomen on full display under a loose, purple crop top. A part of Zuko’s brain recognized it as a cropped hoodie, the text on it reading “I put the Bi in Binary.” He felt painfully overdressed in comparison, wearing a satin-textured button up over a dark turtleneck. 

“Hey,” said Sokka. 

“Hey,” Zuko echoed.

Even free of makeup, Sokka’s face, his eyes, were nothing short of radiant. He leaned further into the doorway, sent Zuko a smile that carved straight through his ribs. 

“Come on in.”

One wall of the apartment was lined with rich brown furs, and the sight of them alone was enough to warm Zuko’s skin. There were full bookshelves and maps with little notes next to myriad photos of performances and loved ones. A desk with multiple monitors was set up near the window, covered in figurines and complete with a huge gaming chair. Suki and Aang were talking animatedly in the room, and exclaimed Zuko’s name from where they had their legs stretched on the couch. He added his boots to the row near the door. 

“I brought lychee juice,” he said, holding it out for Sokka to take. 

Aang practically yelled. “Finally, a person with taste! Usually this apartment is full of fruit-flavored soju and beer. Nothing else…” 

“Hey, I like lychee juice!” Sokka countered. He took the juice gently from Zuko and moved around colorful floor pillows to place it on the table. 

Zuko caught him by the sleeve. Hearing movement in the kitchen, and multiple voices, he realized that he was the last to arrive. Looking right at Sokka, he murmured, “I’m not late, am I?”

But Sokka just leveled him a warm look, one that blew all his worries out of the water. “Nah,” he said assuredly, “These weirdos are just early.”

He urged Zuko into the apartment with a “Make yourself at home”—if the hand on his back made Zuko blush, that was no one’s business—and Aang left for cups while Suki moved to the floor. She nodded for him to join her. With Sokka they arranged themselves on multicolor cushions.

The low coffee table was set up with the pot and an assortment of ingredients: baby bok choy, napa cabbage, udon noodles, bamboo shoots, tofu, taro root, pork belly, and quail eggs. Katara walked out of the kitchen holding brisket and fish balls, and Toph followed behind with chopsticks in her overall pockets.

“One half is miso broth, and the other is mushroom,” Sokka told him. “Aang gets vegetarian privileges.”

“And because Sokka can’t handle spicy broth,” Suki traitorously laughed. 

“Hey!” Sokka frowned at her. “Neither can Katara! We have plenty of spices for you fiends.”

“Zuko’s one of those fiends, I’m willing to bet,” she quipped at him, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Suki only broke eye contact to throw a wink Zuko’s way. 

Narrowed eyes trained fully on Suki, Sokka curled his lip. “Bet,” he said. Internally Zuko mourned that he couldn’t smooth the furrow from Sokka’s brow.

He reached forward, plucking up the jar of chili oil from the table. Zuko felt their eyes on him as he poured a generous amount into his sauce dish, and not a moment wasted on his nerves or if this was respectable, he threw it back into his throat like a glorified liquor shot. To hell with his hopes for a good impression, then.

Expecting horror and convinced from the look on their faces, Zuko jolted when Suki burst into laughter. Her shoulders vibrated as she leaned her elbows on the table, pressed her face into her hands where she snorted uncontrollably. Sokka  _ howled _ at that and let out a hearty, loud laugh, knocking his arm into Zuko’s with a heart-stopping smile. 

“Fuck,” Sokka wheezed. “You made Suki ugly-laugh!”

The person in question was still currently out of commission, so he turned to Sokka’s eyes and made an effort to form words. Experiencing Sokka’s laugh drew a tiny curve out of his mouth. 

“Like, I can’t even be mad that I lost the bet.”

“That wasn’t weird?” Zuko pushed at the jar with his fingers.

“No, no, that was fucking neat. Hilarious.”

Aang, Katara, and Toph chose that moment to return, laden with extra dishes and cups and napkins. Toph had a whole bottle of soju and ruffled Zuko’s hair when she passed. They were absorbed in playful banter when they joined the others on the floor, asking about Suki’s tear-stains as Sokka launched into a retelling. 

One of them conjured a speaker, and Katara poured them all lychee juice with a thankful smile for Zuko, and Sokka said “Yo Aang, put on ‘Sunflower,’” to a chorus of dramatic groans. There was friendly fire even around a hot object here, threats cooking with bok choy in the broth. But the threats never landed. Never came to life or fruition or even to a real boil. Instead Zuko learned that Suki was choreographing a piece to that song, this fall at their company, that Sokka and Aang were performing it with her. They indulged Sokka even though he always asked to put it on, and they did this time too, Sokka dancing in his seat. 

The place was warm with trust and broth and the intimacy of eating hotpot with friends. The decorative furs, the chili oil mixture, the bowl of soup brought to his lips were nothing compared to the warmth around Zuko, pooling in his chest, making a home there like his knees against the colorful floor cushions.

His knees were tucked up under him when his own choreo came up.

“You’re choreographing something, Zuko?” Katara asked him, her voice genuinely curious.

“Um, yeah,” he said, eyeing his quail egg where it floated in mushroom broth. 

“Can you invite us when you perform it at the end of the season?” Suki piped up over her glass. “For real, I loved your performance yesterday. You’ve got real talent.” 

“Ba Sing Se doesn’t operate like that,” Katara frowned. 

“Huh?” Toph exclaimed. “Never? That’s no fun, where’s the creative freedom?”

From the corner of Zuko’s eye he caught the sidelong, apologetic look Sokka sent him.

“No wonder we’ve never seen any choreographed stuff,” Aang said.

Zuko opened his mouth, but closed it when Toph commented on traditional ballet’s elitism. Katara hummed in agreement—that she admired her friends’ creations and the freedom to do that was important, that she never felt the need to choreograph but would if they had the space for it. 

“We have the space for it,” Sokka blurted out.

Everyone turned to him, quiet encouragement for him to go on.

“Look, I already messed up mentioning Zuko’s choreo before he could tell you all himself. The concept’s not mine to tell,” Sokka met his eyes then, resolutely, reassuringly, “but from what little I saw it was amazing. That point reminded me that we  _ have _ the space for it,” he gestured to Aang, “at our company. An alternative if you want to choreograph and perform there.”

There were nods around the table, thoughtful and excited at the prospect of expanding their dance styles. Aang echoed his agreement where Suki and Toph looked committed to the idea as well. The offer was meant for Katara, Zuko knew, but his head swam out to open waters when Sokka returned his gaze. 

“That’s extended to you, too,” he added, bashful. “Our space is open. If you want it.” 

“Yeah,” Zuko said, before he even knew that’s what he thought. But it was. The chance to explore his choreo, smooth it out, eventually perform it for others. Because it was personal to him it would take time, until he was ready. Performing meant so much to him though; was why he continued ballet, why he had the Blue Spirit, why he stayed at Ba Sing Se. He just never had the courage or the space to have it fully.

Maybe the space was all he needed.

He met Sokka’s eyes and let himself go underwater. “I might actually take you up on that.”

Uproariously Toph toasted to that, and the evening dissolved into cheering and anticipation. Not once did Zuko feel like he had to join when the others exchanged choreography ideas, but he felt honored that they would share theirs with him, relieved that they didn’t dance around the topic. They cooked and ate the rest of the food (Suki called the last quail egg and Sokka finished off the fish balls). Katara and Aang shared the last bit of tofu while Sokka made exaggerated noises. Zuko may or may not have laughed.

The noise in the apartment had lowered to a simmer; at some point when they were eating Suki had taken control of the speaker and an upbeat playlist was expanding through the room. A few of the floor pillows had migrated to make space for Aang dancing. Zuko wasn’t fully sure if he was being serious, but his energy was palpable, just as alive as the rest of them. Katara was engaging Toph in a conversation about heists, her mouth occasionally softening on the edges of Aang’s moves, when even more softly from the hallway, Sokka approached him. 

“You wanna see the roof?”

Following him up the stairs put Zuko at eye level with his bare lower back, but he controlled his expression when they opened a door to the night and Sokka curved around to beam at him. From here they had a beautiful view of the city, the landscape illuminated by electricity and warmth. They could almost see the street awash in dark greens. 

Around them were a few potted plants and chairs. He traced Sokka’s steps to where he leaned against an exposed wall, his head brushing overgrowth as he rooted around in his pants pockets. He made a quiet, pleased noise and procured a thin pen. Sokka raised an eyebrow at him and brought it to his lips.

“Can I?”

Zuko registered that it was a weed pen. “Yeah, go for it,” he replied, opening his mouth again before Sokka could offer. “I’ve been meaning to get myself one. Pot helps with my pain.”

“Help yourself, dude! There’s plenty to go around.”

They cast their eyes out at the city, smoke curling from their lips. The night cooled and swam through Zuko’s nerves. When Zuko looked too hard he noted that the shadows fanned across Sokka’s face when he closed his eyes on an exhale, how the neon color of his cropped hoodie made his brown skin that much more vibrant, how his cheekbones, high and sharp and angular, were softened by the lack of eyeliner. He watched, brain buzzing in that familiar way, and his chest and stomach stuttered when Sokka raised his eyes, lips puckered.

He opened his lungs against the feeling, growing there, unearthing itself.

“Being on a roof,” Sokka mumbled, looking out over the expanse of the city, “weirdly makes me wanna dance. Every time.” 

“Have you ever danced up here?” Zuko asked, voice faint. The moment called for it. 

“Maybe once.” He scrunched up his nose. “Now that I think about it I should do that more.” 

“Never too late to start,” Zuko shrugged, and Sokka smirked at him. 

A part of his body was bubbling up to perform. Here, on a roof, in a new part of the city, feeling like the lights that stretched on for miles. The overgrowth rustled in a halo at Sokka’s head, making him shift on his feet. Here there was a roof, and a pretty boy who made him feel brave. 

So Zuko tested the ice, willed it to melt, stepped out on the roof and executed a turn, elegant. An evening breeze lifted the hairs framing Sokka’s face and the corners of his lips into an amused smile. Following Zuko’s lead, freestyling, he spun out to meet him, moving between potted plants. Zuko dug up what he remembered of floor combinations, and leapt across the roof with loose limbs and a wild smile. 

It was the most unpracticed dance for two professional dancers; but it wasn’t about the skill, or the story, or even the style. Perhaps Zuko understood Aang’s earlier moves, now —they had the rhythm and the energy, it came with the occupation. But none of it mattered next to the joy of just moving. Being embodied, using up space, capturing that feeling of being so close to the sky. 

Breathing hard, he stopped near Sokka, and the sounds escaping their lungs were more breath than laughter. He thought that his muscles felt like mud, heavy and slow and tepid.

The air changed when their eyes met. Laughter half-forgotten, Sokka edged closer to him, and an uncertain look entered his expression. He was close, his pink lips looked soft, and Zuko had never wanted to run his hands through that hair more.

Either Sokka read minds, or the thought must have showed on his face, because he stared nervously at Zuko’s lips before locking eyes again. Before either could second-guess, he was moving and Zuko’s hands were on Sokka’s waist and he was pulling him in for a warm and gentle kiss.

Cool palms found his face and rubbed circles where his jaw met his neck, and Sokka gasped into the kiss when Zuko deepened it, nose crushed to Sokka’s cheek. He thought it was unfair that he had to choose between burying fingers in hair and keeping them on Sokka’s bare waist, until Zuko remembered he had two hands and brought one up to card through buzzed sides. 

He had no other thoughts, just that the kiss tasted of smoke and lychee and Sokka’s mouth soft and open on his. 

Zuko pulled away, nosed against Sokka’s jaw, chuckled when he said, “How much spice did you  _ eat? _ ”

“I love spicy food.”

“Okay,” Sokka said, cleared his throat. “I can get used to it.”

“You want to?” Zuko couldn’t read what he saw swimming in Sokka’s eyes, but he just pressed a thumb to Zuko’s unmarred cheek and nodded, unfaltering and certain.

“Mhm, uh, I’ve liked you for a bit now, so.” He blushed. “If you wanted.”

“How about I take you on a date?” Zuko blurted.

At that, Sokka chuckled warmly. “‘Course, I’d love that.”

They eventually had enough of the cold, and returned hand-in-hand to an apartment full of noise. Toph marched over fiercely wanting to know where they were, Aang folded them into a hug, Suki screamed “I  _ knew _ it!” and Katara looked endlessly smug. When Zuko turned to Sokka he had on a huge, goofy smile, his freckled face pink to the tips of his ears. Zuko could understand the feeling.

He thinks that maybe he made the right choices after all. 


End file.
